...𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐...
..."𝘈 𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘉𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴"...
Rain washed away the footprints outside the abandoned mansion.
Within minutes, the police arrived.
The body had vanished.
The blood remained.
The room remained.
The bullet hole remained.
Only the victim was gone.
The investigators searched every corridor.
Every room.
Every hidden passage.
Nothing.
It was as though the dead man had stood up and walked away.
Elior remained silent throughout the investigation.
He never mentioned the brass key.
He never spoke of the unfinished warning.
Nor the shadows descending the staircase.
Some truths sounded too unbelievable to survive daylight.
Back at Nikolai Enterprises, work resumed as usual.
Employees laughed over coffee.
Meetings continued.
Stocks rose.
The empire refused to slow down.
Yet Lucien noticed something no one else did.
Elior had become quieter.
Not weaker.
Not distracted.
Simply...
distant.
He spent longer hours staring through the office windows.
His coffee grew cold before he touched it.
Sometimes his hand drifted unconsciously toward the pocket where the brass key rested.
Lucien watched all of it.
But he asked nothing.
Because some people only speak when they decide the silence has become heavier than the truth.
That evening, Elior finally returned to his apartment.
He locked every door.
Closed every curtain.
Then removed an old wooden box hidden beneath his bookshelf.
The lock had rusted long ago.
Inside rested faded photographs.
Newspaper clippings.
A broken pocket watch.
And one family register.
Its pages had yellowed with age.
The surname written across the cover made his breath catch.
SINCLAIRE.
He slowly turned the pages.
Names.
Birthdates.
Family branches.
Entire generations.
Until he reached the final page.
Three names had been crossed out.
One remained untouched.
Beside it, someone had written in black ink—
Fourth Successor.
Elior closed the book immediately.
His hands trembled.
For the first time...
his own name frightened him.
...𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐...
..."𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘒𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘔𝘶𝘤𝘩"...
Elsewhere, beneath the city...
an old subway station abandoned decades ago had found a second life.
No trains arrived there anymore.
Only whispers.
Candles illuminated the cracked walls.
Dozens of files covered an ancient wooden table.
Every photograph belonged to the same family.
Sinclaire.
A gloved hand placed another file onto the pile.
At its center was Elior's employee identification card from Nikolai Enterprises.
The unseen figure smiled.
"So he survived."
Another voice emerged from the darkness.
"What should we do?"
The answer came without hesitation.
"Nothing."
The silence grew heavier.
The stranger continued.
"Let him remember."
"He will lead us to the truth himself."
The candle flickered.
Then went out.
Miles away, Elior stood alone on the balcony outside his apartment.
The city stretched endlessly before him.
Countless lights.
Countless lives.
None aware of the storm gathering beneath them.
His phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown number.
No sender.
Only a single sentence.
'The cemetery remembers what your family forgot.'
The message disappeared seconds later.
Automatically deleted.
Elior stared at the empty screen.
Then slowly lifted his eyes toward the horizon.
Somewhere beyond those buildings...
someone was watching him.
Somewhere...
someone already knew his next move.
The wind carried the distant sound of church bells across the sleeping city.
For reasons he could not explain...
they sounded like a countdown.
~End of Chapter 4~
**The past does not disappear.
It waits in silence...
Until someone is foolish enough to remember it.**
🖤✨
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